


Liebe ist Fürsorge

by leetleblue



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, level 10 outfit nods, no one look at me this is extremely self indulgent, self-care through the other, taking care of each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 17:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetleblue/pseuds/leetleblue
Summary: A quiet day and a hair brush.





	Liebe ist Fürsorge

**Author's Note:**

> Fictober, hello! Prompt 1: "It will be fun, trust me." Title is german, "love is caring," I apologize to anyone who actually knows german since I'm sure that's not exactly right.  
Blessings of the Traveler to my beta reader for putting up with me.

“I don’t know about this, blueberry.”

“It will be fun, _trust_ me,” Jester says, waving the brush around. “I used to braid Mama’s hair like, _all_ the time, I’m _really _good at it. And besides,” she takes him by the arm and steers him to the couch, pushing him until the backs of his knees press insistently into the fabric, “your hair is too pretty for you to just pull it back all of the time! I know you _need_ to, technically, to like, keep it out of your face when you _read _or _fight_—”

Jester gives Caleb another little push, and he lets it topple him backwards. The couch is plush beneath him, and he settles into it with a half-smile. “I think you just want to play with my hair. I do not think this is about me.”

“_Technically_,” Jester grins, climbing up the back of the couch, “if it is _your_ hair, it is about you, technically.” She grips his shoulders gently and maneuvers him until he’s sitting up straight between her legs. She works the hair tie out of his hair. “You didn’t—sorry, Caleb—you didn’t brush your hair at all yesterday did you?”

Caleb winces. “I was busy.”

“You must have been busy the day before that, too!” Jester frowns, setting the brush down and attacking the hair knotted around his elastic with both hands. “You have to take care of yourself, Caleb!”

“It did not matter so much, before,” Caleb says, looking down at his hands. The tugging at his hair gets worse for a moment and then abruptly ceases. The elastic pings against the couch beside his leg, red hair knotted around it in several places. “A few days of no maintenance were of no consequence.”

“Your hair wasn’t this long, before,” Jester murmurs. She works her fingers through his tangled, shoulder-length locks, fighting the worst of the knots. “You have to brush it every day, Caleb. Your hair is longer than mine is, now, you know.”

“_Every _day?” Caleb asks, teasing, tilting his head back to look up at Jester. The afternoon light is gentle on her face, catching in her purple eyes as she looks down at him. Her brow is furrowed, a scowl on her face, and it makes Caleb’s chest feel tight.

“_Every day!_” Jester’s blunt nails dig into the top of Caleb’s scalp, scraping down, and Caleb’s eyes slip closed. “You have gotten _so good_ at the bathing and the shaving and dressing nice—your new coat is so _pretty_, I love it so_ much_—I know you’ve got to be able to make time to _brush_ your _hair._” She picks up the brush and brandishes it in his face. “If you let it go too long I am going to have to _cut _the tie out of it.”

Caleb makes a small noise of assent, and Jester takes the brush to his hair and works it carefully through his red locks. It’s a pretty brush, one of the fancy boar-bristle ones the Ruby has made on commission, with little pearls inlaid on the back. Jester hums as she untangles his hair from the tips to the roots, and Caleb goes nearly boneless in her lap. He can’t remember the last time someone brushed his hair. The last time someone took care of him, _really _took care of him, when the situation wasn’t life-or-death.

He says, without really meaning to, “Sometimes, it is just too much. To brush my hair. On top of everything else.” Jester stills, and he hears her take in a shallow breath. _Why did I say that?_ Caleb asks himself. _Scheiße_.

“I know,” Jester starts, haltingly, and she pulls the brush through his hair again, “I know it can be—hard, to take care of yourself, when so much is going on. So if you want, if, you know, Caleb, you could—you could come to me and I would brush your hair for you. If It was too much for you.”

“Jester,” Caleb breathes, looking up at her again. Her cheeks are violet, and she’s looking away from him, but she’s still carding her fingers through his hair. Still working the tangles out, one by one. “Oh, Jester—”

“Or! You know! I am sure Nott would do it! If you asked! It, it wouldn’t have to be me, I know Nott wants to take care of you too, its just—”

He reaches up and touches her hand, stills it underneath his long fingers. “Thank you,” Caleb says. “Thank you, Jester. I would—I may take you up on that.”

“Oh!!” Jester gasps, and her hand twists in his, holding it. “Yes! Please, please do! I, uh, I brush my hair every morning, you know? And if you came while I was doing that it would, it wouldn’t be any trouble to brush yours too, you know? Since I’d already have the brush out and everything.”

Caleb squeezes her fingers. “Thank you, blueberry. I appreciate it.”

She squeezes back and lets go, taking up her brushing again until his hair is smooth and free of knots. It takes a few minutes, and Jester starts humming quietly again, soft and sweet in the late-afternoon stillness. She sets her brush down and cards her small blue fingers through his hair, parting it into sections. “Hey, Caleb?”

“Ja?”

“I know how hard it is to ask for help.” Jester pauses, tugging lightly at his hair as she parts it and twists it and parts it again. “I am glad you’re going to let me help you.”

“Anything for you, blueberry,” Caleb says, letting his eyes slip closed again.

“Anything?” Jester asks, an irresistible lilt of mischief entering her voice.

Caleb cracks an eye open. “Within reason.”

“Are one billion ribbons in your hair within reason?”

“One_ billion_ ribbons?” Caleb raises his eyebrows. “Jester, I would like to see you _try._”

“I am going to _succeed_, Caleb,” Jester grins, and swiftly unties a single pink ribbon from around her right horn, and affixes it in the wizard’s hair. She winks, and Caleb smiles, and Caleb could not hope to remove all the ribbons from his hair before Beauregard arrives to make fun of him, but he doesn’t _dare_ try.


End file.
